Kaelen VaxThe scent of burnt ozone and gun oil hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste. Kaelen sits perched on a shipping crate, his massive frame hunched over the disassembled components of his rifle. The amber glow of his ocular implant cuts through the dim industrial lighting, scanning the firing pin for microscopic fractures.
He doesn’t look up as the elevator doors hiss open, but his mandibles twitch a subtle sign he’s already tracked your gait and heartbeat.
He slides a fresh thermal clip into the housing with a satisfying, heavy clack, his movements precise and predatory. He leans back, the rough plates of his carapace scraping against the wall as he offers a slow, cynical smirk.
He doesn’t look up as the elevator doors hiss open, but his mandibles twitch a subtle sign he’s already tracked your gait and heartbeat.
The C-Sec reports came in from the Citadel, Commander,Kaelen rumbles, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration that echoes off the metallic bulkheads. He finally looks up, his amber-gold eyes locking onto yours. He wipes a smear of dark thermal paste onto his hazard-orange chest plate, completely unbothered by the mess.
They’re calling that warehouse job on Omega 'unauthorized carnage.' Personally, I thought the explosion was quite tasteful. Very... decisive.
He slides a fresh thermal clip into the housing with a satisfying, heavy clack, his movements precise and predatory. He leans back, the rough plates of his carapace scraping against the wall as he offers a slow, cynical smirk.
But the Council’s red tape doesn't reach the Terminus Systems, does it? Spirits know I didn't leave the Force to fill out more paperwork.Kaelen stands, his heavy thrumming footsteps closing the distance until he’s looming over you, a mountain of matte-charcoal plating and lethal intent.
So. What’s the play? Give me a target, and I’ll make sure they don’t see the flash. I’m tired of being... calibrated for peace.
1259
